


here's the river (and here's the box)

by phcbosz



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Annoying Barry, Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: After Barry somehow manages to convince Fuches to send him to college with the promise that he will be back and doing his job as soon as it's over, he feels pretty good about it. That is, of course, until he meets his roommate, Hank.
Relationships: Barry Berkman/NoHo Hank
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

Barry has a migraine. His head throbs with his heartbeat and his vision is fuzzy around the edges. Every car passing by, every bird chirp early in the morning makes it even worse. Fuches doesn’t help.

“Oh, I worry about you, buddy…” Fuches says with a sigh, for what feels like the hundredth time and Barry hums, just like always.

“Fuches, it’s going to be okay,” he says, just like always. “You can call me every day to check in, or… Or I will text you every day, and it will be… It will be fine.”

Fuches sighs on the line, long and drawn-out, and Barry’s first instinct is to apologize. He hasn’t unpacked yet. He can still go back.

But he bites his tongue. He needs to do this. If not, he will go crazy. He doesn’t want to be an old man walking around with a slouch, weighed down by all his regrets. He needs to do this one thing for himself, the only thing he will ever do for himself.

“This is not like you at all, Barry,” Fuches says, and Barry feels anger bloom in his chest, hot but small, like a little fire you just can’t put out. He doesn’t know why. He clenches his jaw, bites his tongue harder. “I mean, I thought this whole thing was a phase, and that you would have backed out by now. Buddy, college? I just don’t see you fitting in there. And I don’t understand why you would need college anyway. Your father’s company is— “

Barry scoffs. His father’s company. Auto parts. There is nothing more he hates than his father’s company. He realizes a second too late that he scoffed and Fuches stopped talking.

“What, is there something you want to say, Barry?”

“No, no,” Barry replies hastily, clearing his throat. “I just— “

“If there is something you want to say, you can say it,” Fuches goes on. “What, you hate your father’s company, is that it?”

“No, Fuches, you know— “

“Because let me tell you where you would be right now without your father’s company, Barry. You would be the way you were right after you graduated high-school, without a purpose, just moping around all day, but the difference would be that you would also be starving because you wouldn’t have any money without your father’s company.”

“No, Fuches, I know— “

“I don’t think you do, Barry. I think you’re being extremely ungrateful, I mean, you wanted to go to college, and I said yes, but do you know how you can afford to go to college?”

“Fuches, please— “

Fuches doesn’t listen. He goes on and on and on and after a while his voice becomes like a bee buzzing right by Barry’s ear, an annoying sound that he can’t shut off, drilling holes into his skull. He has the biggest urge to hang up the phone. Sometimes he gets these urges. Sometimes he wants to scream at Fuches, and push him, and punch him, and pack a bag, and run as far away as he can, so that he never has to look at Fuches, he never has to hear his voice ever again—

His biggest dream in life is going to the beach and screaming at the top of his lungs. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

“Barry?” Fuches asks, sounding concerned.

Barry opens his eyes, realizing he didn’t even notice he closed them in the first place. “Yeah, Fuches, no, yeah, you’re right,” he says. He’s used to this. He has learned with time that Fuches is always right.

“Buddy, are you okay? You don’t sound okay.”

Barry knows he’s far from okay. His head aches like it’s splitting into pieces, his hand is hurting from carrying both of his bags, his legs keep quivering and he feels like he is about to fall down but the worst of all—

Worst of all, he feels like he is wearing a shirt that’s three times too small. It feels like someone is sitting on his chest. Some days it’s hard to get out of bed. Most days, it’s impossible.

“I’m okay, Fuches. I think I might just be getting a cold.”

Barry is bad at lying. Fuches never calls him out on it.

“You’re getting sick already? Buddy…” Barry hates the way Fuches can say buddy and make it sound like a complete new word that can only mean negative things.

Fuches says buddy like someone would say “I’m sorry.” Fuches says buddy like someone would say “Your dog died.” Fuches says buddy and Barry feels like maybe someone did die after all.

“It’s going to be okay, Fuches,” and then before he can stop himself, he adds, “you can visit whenever you want.”

And then he stops, without a breath in his lungs, and closes his eyes tightly. Fuck. Normally in their agreement, Fuches wouldn’t be able to visit. But after an hour of listening to Fuches talk about how worried he is, Barry gave in without even noticing it. He always gives in to Fuches. It’s in his genes. He hates his genes. He hates this power Fuches has over him.

(He hates Fuches.)

“Of course, I will, Barry,” Fuches says with a smile in his voice, “oh, buddy, I’m going to miss you so much…”

And just like that, Barry feels shame creep over him like a wet blanket and he shivers. Of course, Fuches is going to miss him. Fuches doesn’t have anyone else except Barry, and Barry doesn’t have anyone else except Fuches. They are each other’s everything.

Fuches always says that nobody will know Barry like he knows him. Barry agrees. He could never tell anyone about the stuff he’s done. If he did, they would leave faster than he could blink. Fuches has seen what he has done. Fuches was there when everything went downhill. Fuches never left. Fuches knows Barry better than he knows himself.

‘Nobody will love you like I do’ Barry thinks, and he can hear Fuches’ voice inside his head, saying it.

“I’ll miss you too, Fuches,” Barry says, and he means it.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right, buddy?” Fuches asks. “You could just come back right now, back to Ohio, back to where you belong.”

Barry has never felt like he belonged anywhere, but if he had to pick, he sure as hell wouldn’t pick Ohio.

“Back to me,” Fuches finishes, and Barry stops walking. Back to Fuches. It does sound good. Back to where everything is familiar, and nothing can surprise him. Back to his purpose. Back to his routine.

Back to Fuches.

Barry doesn’t know how to even be a person without Fuches. He doesn’t know how to exist without the old man by his side.

And he knows, no matter what he does, he will always go back to Fuches in the end, because that’s where he belongs, that’s where he exists.

Barry is nothing without Fuches, and Fuches is nothing without him.

He swallows, bites his tongue.

He thinks about Fuches dragging him out of bed and forcing him under the cold shower, he thinks about feeling like he was floating out of his body, looking down at himself like a camera in the corner of the room. He remembers seeing his whole body shiver under the water, he remembers the feeling of drowning. Fuches touching his arms, how hot Fuches was that day. How cold he felt. Lifting his head, blinking against the water pouring down. Fuches looking down at him, Fuches always looking down at him, with his face pinched in concern, Fuches saying ‘buddy’, Fuches saying ‘buddy’, again and again.

He remembers wanting to stay under that water where every sound was muffled, where his vision was blurry from tears, he remembers wanting to freeze to death—

He shakes his head like trying to shake a bad thought away.

“Let me just try this out, Fuches,” he says, “if it doesn’t work out, I can always come back, right?”

Fuches is silent on the line, and Barry feels like he might throw up his breakfast. He keeps walking, and now the building is so close, he is almost there, but the road behind him seems too long all of a sudden, like he could never walk back—

“Of course, buddy, of course,” Fuches reassures him, and Barry inhales a badly needed breath, “you can come back anytime.”

“Thanks,” Barry says, then louder, “thank you, Fuches.”

He doesn’t even know what he is thanking the man for.

*

It’s a small room with two dressers, two desk and chairs, and two twin beds. The walls are bare and white, but Barry brought his Metallica posters with him so it’s okay.

There is also a small bathroom with a shower and Barry is thankful for that.

He picks the bed that he thinks will get the most sun, and gets to unpacking, while blasting Eminem from his phone. It’s actually relaxing, and he gets too into it so soon he is dancing around more than he is unpacking and somehow, he is actually having fun.

He never had this much room for himself even though at home his room is way bigger than this one and he doesn’t need to share it with anyone else. He never had this much room to be free. He could never dance around like this with Fuches around. He could never exist just to exist.

If it was up to him, he would have moved out ages ago, never start living with Fuches in the first place, but his father trusted Fuches, and that meant his mother trusted Fuches, so when she had to go to the hospital and Barry was too young to stay alone, the only option left was Fuches.

And well… After everything, Fuches would never let him live on his own, which is probably a good thing because Barry knows nothing about taking care of himself. He wouldn’t even remember to eat if Fuches didn’t check in on him three times a day.

He falls to the floor, panting, but with a smile on his face. He thinks about Fuches. He’s always thinking about Fuches, wondering what he is doing.

Even though the room is small, the walls are not caving in on him, he is not suffocating in his own space—everything feels so much bigger without Fuches around. Even Barry himself.

It’s not like Fuches made him feel bad or bothered him a lot when they lived together. It’s just that Fuches has a way of making Barry feel short, like he is 13, like he needs to stand on his toes to be taken seriously, like he will never be tall again.

Barry forgot what this felt like. Even spending a few hours alone Barry knew he would go back to Fuches, but now, he sits on the floor with sweat drying on his skin and his chest hurting with every breath, and he doesn’t have to worry about Fuches coming in any second, in a minute, in a few hours.

Fuches will never even see this room. Barry will make sure of it. He doesn’t know why that is, but for some reason, it feels like if Fuches saw this room, it would be ruined.

He couldn’t exist in the room without Fuches ever again, like he is doing right now. He can do anything he wants. He could jump out of the window, he could—

Barry gets a dangerous idea right then. He could just go to take a shower, make it cold, ice cold—make it freezing, so that he shivers underneath it, and then he could sit there for hours until he couldn’t feel anything, until he felt everything he needed to feel—

The door opens right then, hitting the wall with a bang. Maybe it’s a blessing. Barry doesn’t dwell on it. He just jumps up to his feet and tries to smooth his wrinkly t-shirt down like it will help.

The guy that comes in is… not what he expected. He has a lot of tattoos on his pale skin, on his arms, hands, even a little bit on his neck. He has no hair. He doesn’t even have eyebrows. His red polo clings to him, tucked into his black shorts.

When Barry looks up to make eye contact, he notices the guy has been watching him look him up and down. He freezes for a second before he moves forward with his hand held out, a small anxious smile on his lips.

“Hi!” He says, as cheerily as he can.

“Hey Barry!” The guy replies, looking at Barry’s outstretched hand hanging between them. Barry notices the guy has an accent, saying Barry’s name in such a way that it doesn’t even sound like his name anymore.

“Yeah, hey—” he starts, but then freezes in his tracks. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

The guy looks at him with an amused expression, hairless eyebrows raising on his forehead. “They tell you your roommate’s name, man. You don’t know my name?”

“Oh,” Barry replies, shifting from one foot to another. “No. I must have… Uh. I must have missed that.”

“Well I’m Hank, I’m super fun guy, really chill, and I would love to shake hand, but my hands are kind of full,” Hank says, looking down pointedly at the bags he is carrying.

Barry blushes slightly, pulling his hand back. “You need help with that?”

“No, man, but thanks you! I just need to get in the room, y’know?”

“Right, right,” Barry replies, rubbing his arm and looking at the floor.

“You’re standing in way, Barry,” Hank sounds like he is doing his best to not laugh.

Barry jumps up and moves out of the way to the side, muttering a small ‘sorry’ that he isn’t even sure Hank hears. Then he stands there, watching as Hank brings in bag after bag.

“How did you even carry all these upstairs?” Barry finds himself asking after the fifth bag.

“I asked some guy for help, real nice man, was glad to help,” Hank replies, and looks up for a second to wink at Barry.

Barry doesn’t really know how to react to that, so he just does thumbs up with a forced smile. Hank looks at him weirdly for a second before he goes back to bringing in his bags.

Turns out there were only seven bags, which is less than Barry was expecting in the end. Then Hank stands in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, taking everything in. Barry still hasn’t moved from his spot.

Then Hank cringes slightly, looking around the room. “What’s that awful sound?” The man asks, looking like he smelled something foul.

And just like that, Barry realizes his phone is still on the bed, blasting Eminem. He moves swiftly to the bed and picks up his phone to silence it as fast as he can.

“Just… Eminem,” he says lamely with a shrug, and Hank makes a face at him.

“You listen to Eminem?”

Barry frowns at that, crossing his arms in front of his chest, He doesn’t like Hank’s tone of voice. He doesn’t like it at all. “Yes. Is that a problem?” He asks, then bites his tongue, because he sounds like he is looking for a fight, even though he is not, even though Barry is always looking for a fight—

He doesn’t realize he is trying to stand taller and looking down at Hank who is a few inches shorter than him before the guy puts his hands up in a surrender gesture. “No, man. Eminem just makes sucky music.”

Barry frowns even harder, taking a step back. He didn’t even realize he was standing that close to Hank in the first place but now that he has moved back, it feels easier to breathe. “Well, man, some people have different taste, you should know since you’re wearing that awful polo shirt that no one else would wear.”

Hank snaps his head up, looking at Barry with his hairless eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, now I’m supposed to take fashion advice from straight guy?”

And then the man hits Barry—or tries to hit Barry playfully in the arm, but Barry slaps his hand away in the air before they can make contact. “What does me being straight have to do with this?” Barry snaps, feeling more than irritated now. “How would you feel if I brought up you being a homosexual during an argument to imply that your opinion is not valid? I would never do that because that’s offensive to a whole sexuality, so what makes you think it’s okay to imply that just because I’m heterosexual, I don’t know anything about fashion?”

Hank just shrugs, still with a smile on his face, like they are two friends just bantering. “Even if I didn’t know you were straight, I would assume you know nothing about fashion anyway because you’re wearing Eminem t-shirt. It’s like… Wow, man. You’re that proud you like Eminem?”

Barry feels his face burn in anger and looks down at his cool Eminem t-shirt that is very comfortable and that he likes very much, thank you. At least he isn’t wearing polo shirts like a 50-year-old divorced dad.

“Fuck you,” he settles to saying in the end but it’s not as satisfactory as it would have been because Hank just laughs like Barry made the greatest joke ever.

“You need to relax, Barry, chill, man,” Hank says looking him up and down which makes Barry uncomfortable for some reason he doesn’t know. It’s just that Hank has these big dark eyes and Barry feels like the man will see into his soul and find his deepest, darkest secret with one fleeting look. “You’re super tense, Barry. That can’t be good for you. Maybe you want massage? I give great massage, Barry, you would not believe it—”

“No,” Barry snaps, rolling his eyes again. He feels like he will do that a lot as long as Hank is his roommate. “Listen, I already picked my bed, you can have the other one, and we will split the room from between and I would like it if you just stayed in your own side, and I will stay in mine.”

Hank raises his eyebrows, then takes a look at the beds. “Oh, Barry, you picked better bed with sunshine,” he exclaims, looking actually sad about it.

Barry sighs, long and loud. “You can have it, I don’t care. Just let me get my stuff because I already unpacked.”

“You’re great guy, Barry, thank you,” Hank says with a genuine smile that makes Barry even more annoyed for some reason.

Then, as Barry is taking his clothes out of the dresser and putting them in the other one, Hank hums to himself, really loudly, and Barry doesn’t want to believe it, but it sounds like the guy is humming Gangnam Style.

“Oh, is that all your clothes?” Hank asks after he is done, hip cocked to the side, looking at Barry with his annoying big eyes and annoying smile and Barry clenches his jaw.

“Yes,” he replies, expecting Hank to start another argument, but Hank just smiles wider.

“Can I put some clothes in your dresser, Barry? I have so much I don’t think all will fit in mine.”

Barry rolls his tongue around his mouth, exhaling through his nose. Good to know that Hank didn’t listen to any word of what he said about keeping to their side of the rooms. But, it’s no good to start a rivalry for no reason, and Barry definitely has the space, so he just shrugs. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Thanks you, Barry!”

Barry looks at his watch for the first time that day. With Hank around, it’s going to be a long day, and a long month, and a long year. But feeling upset about things he can’t control is no good in the end, and at least Hank is shorter than him, and he doesn’t have the aura that Fuches has, that makes Barry feels really small for no reason.

He decides that at least, Hank is a better roommate than Fuches by a mile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: allergies, bullying, homophobia, violence, suicide mention and idk if im missing anything else sorry

The next morning, Barry realizes he was wrong. Fuches was a better roommate.

He knocks on the door again. At this point he is considering breaking it. “Hank, you bald fuck, I need to pee!”

Barry also needs to shower but he doesn’t really have time for that. Hank has been in there for the last hour. Since Barry woke up. He should be getting to class already, but he can’t go without peeing.

He could pee somewhere else, but he doesn’t want to admit defeat, especially to some idiot like Hank. So, he stands in front of the door, listening to Hank sing loudly and obnoxiously, while Barry checks his watch every five seconds, to see how late he is making himself.

He could break the door down if he wanted to. He is pretty sure of it. But he doesn’t want to get in trouble for that, or worse, accidentally see Hank naked.

He pounds on the door again, this time also kicking it with his right foot. “Fuck you, you fucking idiot, I hope you fall down and crack your head open in there!” He yells, and with that, he leaves.

Hank doesn’t stop singing.

*

Barry is late. Of course he is. But it’s not a problem. He just goes in and sits down next to a blond guy that seriously looks like a model, with his perfect white teeth when he smiles at Barry, and his dimples. Barry smiles back, a tad awkwardly, and looks around the room.

There is a girl sitting right next to him, her hair is blond, and it looks soft. She is wearing a dress with a white t-shirt underneath, and she’s got a smile on her face as she listens to the teacher talk. Her left hand is doodling on the paper in front of her with no worries, and her right hand taps against the desk from time to time.

She is beautiful. Her eyes are brown, and her smile is so bright that it could light up the room.

But then Barry realizes she is looking at him, with her smile falling, as he just stares at her like a creep. His face lights on fire as he snaps his head back to the guy next to him, but that just makes him blush harder, so he stares at his desk instead.

He clears his throat awkwardly, deciding to not lift his head back up ever again.

And he manages to do that, until the class is over, and it’s time to leave. Just as he gets up, he feels someone touch his arm, and his eyes widen.

But it’s just the model guy next to him, and he has a smile on his face. “Hey, man! I’m Ryan,” the guy introduces himself and Barry lets his shoulders relax.

For a second, he thought it was the girl he stared at, and he almost had a heart attack.

“Hey,” he replies, shaking the guy’s hand. Ryan has soft hands for a dude. “Barry.”

“Nice to meet you, Barry!”

“Oh, Barry? That’s a cool name. I’m Sally. Sally Reed.”

And Barry’s head snaps to the owner of the voice just to see the beautiful girl. Sally. Sally Reed. She sounds like a princess and she even looks like one. “N—nice to meet you, uh, Sally,” Barry manages to say, his voice cracking just a little bit, but Sally keeps smiling at him kindly.

“So, Barry, you weren’t at the freshman meet-up, were you?” Ryan asks, leaning forward on his desk, and Barry feels like maybe he should sit down instead of looking at them like an idiot, but he doesn’t want to sit between them for some reason.

“Oh, no, I missed that.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem familiar at all,” Sally says, nodding at Ryan. “I mean, we all kind of know each other, y’know? If you were there, I would have recognized you.”

“Same!” Ryan exclaims. “You have a really ‘memorizable’ face, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sally agrees, looking at Barry intensely like she is trying to figure out the secret to the universe.

Barry’s face burns. “I don’t know—”

“Like a block!” Ryan yells, looking at Sally for approval.

“Like a block, yes, that’s what I was going for!” They high-five excitedly, while Barry just stares.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing to have a head like a block, but it doesn’t sound like they are insulting him, and Ryan and Sally seem like really cool people.

But soon enough, they have to leave, and get to their other classes but they exchange numbers and agree to get coffee together sometimes, so Barry counts it as a win.

He didn’t know it was this easy to make friends!

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to live with Ryan, Ryan with the perfect teeth and toned arms, instead of Hank. But at least life outside that small room is better than he could have hoped for, and even though he hadn’t showered, he made friends. So no, Barry is not going to let Hank ruin his day, or his life, thank you very much.

Today, they will have a strict conversation about what’s okay, and what’s not. Taking hour long showers in the bathroom and not letting your roommate pee, for an example, is not okay. And Barry will make Hank understand that.

*

That evening, before he opens the door, he tries his best to pump himself up for the conversation he is about to have with Hank.

But everything goes out of his head when he actually opens the door and sees what’s going on inside.

What’s going on inside is this: Hank, naked, doing what seems to be Yoga, in the middle of the room.

Barry almost closes the door out of reflex before he realizes this is his room too, and he has every right to be there! And this just means they really need to have that conversation because doing naked yoga in the middle of the room? Also not okay!

“Jesus, dude!” He exclaims, closing his eyes with his hands, “Put some fucking clothes on!”

“Wow, Barry, you don’t need to be such straight guy—”

“Fuck you, you idiot, this has nothing to do with me being straight, I doubt anyone would want to see you naked, no matter their sexuality, you—you bald fuck!”

“I’ll let you know Barry, that I’m, as they say, a catch.”

Barry’s mind is already creating a reply to that when he hears the shuffling sound and realizes Hank must be getting dressed so he tries to calm himself down. He had such a nice day today. He made friends.

Only if Hank hadn’t ruined everything again, just like this morning! Ugh, Barry hates Hank! Hates him!

“You can open your eyes, Barry,” Hank says in a sing song voice that makes Barry feel a little scared to open his eyes but when he does, he sees that Hank is dressed. Just not dressed very much.

He is wearing short shorts, that are really short short shorts, like so short that—

Hank has toned thighs—

Okay, wow, if Hank didn’t have that bald head and that mouth attached to it, he might even be considered attractive by some people—not Barry, obviously. But some people might be into him.

Only if he didn’t have that bald head and that mouth attached to it—and Barry’s anger returns to him.

“Listen, Hank—”

“Chocolate?” Hank asks, definitely not listening, and Barry exhales through his nose like an angry bull.

“I’m allergic to peanuts,” he finds himself saying anyway, because Hank has a way of distracting him from the point like nobody else. What did they even have to talk about anyway?

“That’s fine, Barry, these are chocolate,” Hank shakes the bowl again, and Barry sighs. “Have some chocolate, and relax, man! You’re super tense again. You might explode, you know?”

Barry has a million replies to that, but he chooses to shut his mouth off and just take the damn chocolate or whatever. Hank smiles at him as Barry pops the chocolate into his mouth and bites into it.

Only to spit it back out right after. He stares at the piece of chocolate in his hand, covered in spit, and oozing peanut butter cream right where Barry bit into it.

“Okay, wow, that’s disgusting—”

“This has peanut butter in it,” Barry cuts Hank off, his voice somehow calm. “Hank, you just made me eat a chocolate with peanut butter in it!”

“Okay, so—” Then Hanks stops. “Oh! Oh, you said peanuts! Damn…”

“You fucking idiot!” Barry yells, throwing the spit covered piece of chocolate in his hand right at Hank’s bald head and then he makes some more noises to get the rage out of himself, but it doesn’t help. He needs to punch something. Preferably Hank.

But more importantly, he needs to go to a hospital.

“Fuck!” He yells again. At least he didn’t even take off his shoes.

“Wow, man, you need to chill, you’re like, really red right now.”

“I’m really red right now because I’m about to die, you idiot!” He can’t stop yelling for some reason. The rooms around them must all be hearing him with how loud he is. He takes a deep breath. “Whatever. I need to go to a hospital,” he says, calmer now, and with his lips tingling, opens the door and walks out.

But before he can make it far, he hears a pair of feet running behind him and he turns to see Hank, still wearing those short shorts and a tank top, with some flip flops, like he is going to the beach.

“At least let me drive you, Barry, as apology,” Hank sounds sincere, “I’m sorry I almost killed you, man, and you totally can’t drive like this, you look like you’re about to fall down.”

Barry thinks about it. It doesn’t take too long to realize that yes, he can’t actually drive like this because if he crashes his car, he will die from his allergy before he bleeds out or something. His whole face is throbbing, and there is an itch in his throat that is driving him mad.

“Driving me to the hospital is not a good enough apology for almost killing me, idiot,” he settles for saying in the end.

“It’s a start!” Hank is as chipper as always.

“Just drive fast, okay? I could die any minute now.”

“You’re such drama queen, Barry, are you sure you’re straight?”

They start speed walking and Barry rolls his eyes. “That’s offensive. Not all gay people are dramatic.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Um, how many gay people you know, Barry?”

Barry thinks about it. Well. There is Hank. There was James back in Ohio and that’s it.

James wasn’t dramatic though. He was just a normal guy that happened to be gay. Barry always admired him. James knew he was gay in eight grade and he wasn’t afraid to show it. He was the bravest kid Barry ever knew.

One day, he came across James sitting all alone under the bleachers, and his lip was bleeding. Barry couldn’t help but stare, his lunch in his hands, and his heart beating fast. James didn’t even look scared when he saw Barry, just rolled his eyes and continued playing with his shoelaces.

“Sorry, dude, already gave my lunch money to Big Bill,” James said, shrugging. His lip was bleeding still, down his chin, and spilling little drops on his tight t-shirt.

“Oh, no, I—I just… I eat lunch. Here. Usually,” Barry stumbled over his words, “This is where I eat my lunch, I mean.”

“Well, I’m not leaving,” James replied, and Barry thought that was mighty brave because James was 5’3 and 90 pounds, and if they both stood up, Barry towered over him like a building. If Barry wanted, he could hit James. Like everybody else did. But somehow, he knew, even if he did that, James wouldn’t leave, because James was stubborn as they come, and he fought back with all he had all the time, though he never managed to win.

“That’s okay,” Barry said, and walked forward to sit on the ground, putting a little bit of distance between himself and James.

“Don’t sit too close, dude,” James said, looking at him with a weird expression, “you might catch it.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Barry said uncertainly.

James scoffed. “Yeah, obviously not, idiot. Or Big Bill would be the most flaming homosexual considering how much he likes to touch me all the time.”

Barry swallowed, his face burning. He knew you were born gay and that you couldn’t catch it. He wanted to look smart in front of James, but he got shy around people he didn’t know very well, and it was only worse now because James was the coolest kid he knew.

He opened his lunchbox and looked down at his sandwich. Then he took one half of it and offered it to James, his hands shaking. “Since Big Bill—since he took your money and stuff,” he said, like his heart wasn’t pounding, waiting for James’ reaction.

James gave him a weird look but reached forward and took the half sandwich, looking at it skeptically. “This doesn’t have any peanuts in it, right? I’m allergic to—”

“No! I’m allergic—I’m allergic to peanuts, too,” Barry replied, feeling giddy for some reason, and he felt even more like he was on fire when James cracked a small smile.

“Cool,” James said, and bit into the sandwich. Barry tried his best to not stare, and looked down on his lunchbox, biting down on his lip. He was too nervous to eat.

“You’re cool,” he blurted out, and before he could regret it, “you’re cooler than everybody else in this school.”

James’ head snapped to look at him, his pale cheeks going a little red, and he stopped chewing, just to stare at Barry like Barry was an alien he was seeing for the first time.

“You shouldn’t say that out loud or everybody will think you’re like me,” James said bitterly, looking away. Barry wanted so desperately for James to look at him and smile again, no matter how small.

“I don’t care,” he lied, even though he did a little bit. “You’re really cool.”

And he was telling the truth then. James didn’t care if the teachers thought he was dumb, he always asked questions when he didn’t understand something, and if somebody insulted him in the hallways, he always had a good comeback that would get the person sputtering, his hair was always shiny and looked soft, he wore the coolest clothes ever, and he did trick on his skateboard that no one else in the school could do.

So, yeah. James was cool.

James was looking at Barry again, but with something weird in his big, green eyes. “I know,” the boy replied in the end, and then the eye contact was over, and they both stared at their laps again. “But thanks.” Barry could swear that James sounded a little flustered.

“You’re really brave,” Barry needed to stop, but he couldn’t. He just desperately wanted to let James know that he thought he was cool, and maybe James would think that Barry was cool too.

James scoffed. “I’m not that brave.”

“No, you are,” Barry argued, and tried to bite down on his tongue to stop, but the words spilled out anyway, “I wish I was as brave as you.”

And James lifted his head again, and Barry could feel the boy staring at the side of his face, but he refused to look up. A weird silence fell between them, and Barry suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“It’s not a competition,” James said after a few second, his voice kinder and smaller at the same time, somehow, and he sounded older than he was. Like he grew up and shrunk back again in a matter of seconds that passed by but will all the knowledge he gained still with him.

Then, Barry heard some shuffling, and then, he felt James’ shoulder next to his own, and then he couldn’t breathe at all, and then James spoke in a voice so small that Barry felt like it was a secret meant for only him to hear. “I’m not that brave anyway.”

When Barry lifted his head, James was so close that if he tried, he could count every freckle on the boy’s face, and he could see the way blood had dried up on his chin and lip, he could feel James’ breath hit his face like a gentle wind—

There was an urge inside him, like a fire, and it burned, and it hurt, but he didn’t know why, he didn’t understand what he wanted to do, he had no idea why his heart was pounding so fast, he had no idea why he wanted to press his hand against James’ chest to see if his heart was beating just as fast too.

They looked away at the same time. It took a few minutes until Barry felt like he could breathe normally, and James was eating his sandwich again, one small bite at a time, and the air around them felt heavy, pressing down on Barry’s shoulders and making him slouch, but James was sitting straight, like he couldn’t feel what Barry felt at all. Still, something inside Barry insisted that if he reached out to touch, he would feel James’ blood under his veins, pumping harder than it should when eating a boring sandwich.

They didn’t talk again after that. A few days later there was a big fight between James and Big Bill. There was a lot of blood, and Big Bill passed out, and James wouldn’t stop hitting him, and James wouldn’t stop screaming, and James wouldn’t stop crying, and it took three teachers to finally drag him away.

Barry never saw the boy again. Some people said he got expelled, some people said he was in juvie, some people said that he finally took Big Bill’s advice and killed himself. Big Bill made it to graduation, but his arm was still in a cast, and he refused to talk about James, so nobody ever learned the full story.

But somehow, Barry knew in his gut that James was at his graduation just like them, and James was smirking at all the people who ever made fun of him, because no matter what, he kept going, and he made it in the end.

Barry doesn’t like to think about James too much. So, he shakes his head. It’s been a few minutes since he last spoke, and his throat is still burning, his lips are swollen, and his whole face is on fire. They are near his car now. They are almost there.

Barry wants to say ‘that doesn’t matter’. That’s what he would have said if he hadn’t gotten lost in thought. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know many gay people because he knew one of the coolest gay dudes he would ever meet.

The words never leave his lips. Then he decides that’s for the best. Hank doesn’t need to know about James anyway.

*

The ride back from the hospital is silent except for Hank humming a song, and Barry is sitting on the passenger seat with his head pressed to the window. It’s almost 1 am now, and he is incredibly tired. He needs to wake up early tomorrow for class, but tomorrow seems too far away for some reason.

This is the most Hank has ever been silent, and when he speaks, Barry misses the quiet instantly. “I mean, you heard doctor, Barry.”

“What?”

“It’s kind of your fault you don’t carry around Epi-pen—”

“You almost fucking killed me!” Barry’s voice is loud once again, but Hank doesn’t even flinch.

“You have deadly allergy and you don’t have Epi-pen. That’s disaster scenario, man.”

“It would have been fine if you hadn’t given me peanut butter chocolate after I specifically said that I’m allergic to peanuts, you dumb fuck!” Barry is full on yelling now, the whole weight of the day catching up to him.

Hank just keeps smiling serenely, like he is having the most calming drive of his life. It just makes Barry angrier, and he doesn’t even want to think about how Hank can somehow drive him up the wall like nobody else can.

“Relax, man,” Hank says, dragging the sentence out, “you didn’t die. You will get to see other days filled with same boring shit that’s your life. Another day, another dollar, you know?”

Barry just stares at the side of Hank’s face, and fumes, until Hank turns around to make eye-contact. Barry turns away sharply then, because he doesn’t like looking Hank in the eyes.

He doesn’t reply. The ride is silent and the walk to their room is silent and as Barry lays in bed, he realizes he never did have that talk with Hank. He just hopes he will be able to shower tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twt @bothader unless ur a coward


End file.
